Celebration
by ceallaig1
Summary: The Company has survived the Battle of the Five Armies, and it's time to celebrate life, family and the future (Canon divergent - I reject the Professor's reality and substitute my own)


CELEBRATION

How they had all even survived the great battle was a miracle that none of them understood, but that no one was about to question. True, there had been close calls aplenty – it was days before Oin declared that Thorin would survive, and many more before he was able to sit up for more than a few minutes at a time. The majority of those minutes were spent at the bedsides of his sister-sons. They had defended their King with heart, soul, and weapon, shielding him from Orcs and wargs, and had very nearly paid the ultimate price for that devotion. Fili lay on his cot, pale and still; Kili tossed and muttered in broken Khuzdul. Thorin, in the quiet of the night when no one could hear him, alternated between threatening Mahal with bloody retribution if they died and begging his Maker to spare them and take him instead.

Whether it was because Mahal feared the wrath of the Mountain King, or because He was feeling benevolent, or merely because (as Thorin secretly suspected) He didn't care enough to bother in the affairs of mortals, all three lived to tell their own tales of the day. Fili woke first and asked for something to eat, disgusted when he was only allowed broth and not nearly enough of that. It was his brother's voice that Kili finally responded to, dazed brown eyes lighting on Fili's anxious face and rewarding him with a childlike smile of pure joy. Recovery was slow, and Kili's right wrist was in bandages for several weeks. Oin sternly told him he was lucky not to have lost the arm entirely when he complained of the inconvenience—it had been badly broken and then infected. The idea of losing his ability to shoot his beloved bow finally silenced him and he even thanked the old healer for his expertise.

The rest of the Company, the brotherhood born of honor and blood, had similar stories to tell, wounds that needed tending and crises to pass. Seasoned warrior or novice, none escaped unscathed. There would be tales told, and no doubt embellished, for many a day, of great deeds and fierce enemies. And in the quiet times, there would be reflection, and mourning for those who had been lost in the quest to regain their home.

Their home. For Kili, it still did not seem quite real—Erebor's might had been legend for so long, and yet, here he was in the kingdom carved from the great Mountain. And he had helped make it happen. He looked across the room at his uncle and his heart swelled with pride. Yes, young and untried as he had been, he had done his duty by his King, and had not been found wanting. No warrior could ask for more.

Laughter and song rang off the walls of the great room, reclaimed from the rubble for their celebration that night. All were still in various stages of healing, but a sickbed was no place to be when there was drinking to be done. Nori had procured a store of wine and ale, and no one asked how he'd come by it, not even his elder brother. A good hunt had provided meat for the table, and a room untouched by the wrath of the firedrake had yielded some instruments still in playable condition. Fiddles, drums, and a harp made their way into eager hands. Voices high and low, sweet and gritty, wove together in a tapestry of joy, and if the odd thread was misplaced, it did not mar the beauty of the whole.

"Did you think you'd ever see him like this again?" a voice broke into Kili's reverie. The dark Dwarf smiled at his golden brother and they both looked toward their uncle. Thorin's deep voice rang counterpoint to Dori's clear tenor in an old Dwarven ballad, and the blue eyes shone with…it could only be called contentment, Kili decided. The King was in his hall, surrounded by those he loved, and for the first time in many a long year, he was at peace with himself and with the world.

"I wish Mum was here to see it," Kili said, leaning close enough to actually be heard over the din.

"She will be soon, Uncle sent the raven yesterday. Knowing her, she won't even wait for spring. I wanted to go escort her back, but he said no, I had to let my leg finish healing," Fili grumbled into his cup.

"And he was right," his brother admonished. "Riding all that way would do it no good at all. The future King has to look after himself."

"I know," Fili said. In addition to his other wounds, Fili had taken a spear to his thigh and had been fortunate not to bleed to death. Oin had said he would likely always have a limp, and walking was still difficult, but he was walking under his own power, more than many could say. "I really am the future King now, aren't I? It's not just a name anymore. It's going to take some getting used to."

"Well, unless Thorin decides to take a wife and start raising his own heirs after all these years you'd better get used to it," Kili laughed. "Drink up, enjoy this while you can."

"That may be the best advice you've ever given me, brother," Fili laughed, tapping the rim of his cup against Kili's. Responsibilities would wait for another day—this night was about savoring what was, not worrying about what was to come.

As if reading his nephew's thoughts, Thorin rose from his seat, his low quiet voice carrying over the joyous noise. "My friends … " The room silenced at once, and the King smiled softly. "There are no words in Common, or Khuzdul, or any other tongue, to tell you all that is in my heart this night. When I called, you answered, even those for whom Erebor was little more than a tale told round the fire on winter nights. You came, and you remained loyal even through your doubts. For those doubts I beg your forgiveness, as your King and as your friend. Now I must ask for one last service. For those choosing to stay, much may yet be asked of you – a great deal of work lies ahead, and there will be need of as many willing hands as can be found to do that work. You have all already given so much, and those of you who choose to go back to your homes will go with my blessing and my thanks. I would not order even if I could, and I have little right to ask, but …"

"As I told you before, laddie, we're with you," interrupted Balin softly, and the heads around the table nodded in agreement (though Nori required a poke in the ribs from both his brothers before adding his assent).

"Help me up," Fili whispered. Kili got his good arm around his brother and steadied him, allowing him to keep his weight off the bad leg. "A toast—to the kingdom Erebor once was, and to the kingdom it will be again, with the help of its people and its King. Long live the King!" The Dwarves shuffled to their feet, and a dozen voices shouted the words once, twice, and a third time. Thorin's gaze, suspiciously bright, swept over the company, and he nodded his thanks, not trusting his voice.

"Ah, enough with the serious talk, we need another song!" Dwalin called out, as ever coming to his King's aid. "Bofur, what's that song you sang for the Elves, the one that made the pretty one go all purple?"

Bofur laughed, jumped up on the table and started singing about the night the Man in the Moon came down to try the brown beer. There was clapping and thumping in time, and the loudest thumps came from a smiling Thorin.

Fili and Kili clung to each other, tapping out the rhythm on their legs, smiles bright and hearts full. It had taken all of their lifetimes and more, but tonight marked the beginning of the future. The kingdom would rise again, and the King would see his dream fulfilled.


End file.
